


Red

by Anonymous



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Horror, Hallucinations, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, accidental injuries, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You wake up from a bad dream.The bad dream does not want to end.You are tired of this bad dream.
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	Red

You scramble down the stairs, trying in vain to keep your breath steady as tears streak down your cheeks. You aren't even sure if you're angry or terrified, but all you know for sure is that you're _tired_ ; you're tired of swearing you see the vaguest glimpses of him on the trolley home, and you're tired of being terrified to sleep because whenever you do he appears as if to mock you.

You walk to the kitchen for something quick to eat. Sometimes something small helps settle your thoughts, and you find yourself more than willing to see if tonight will be in your favor. You take two apples and grab the nearest kitchen knife, heartbeat still jittery as your eyes adjust to what little lighting this room provides. You try to focus on the colors that surround you in this moment in an attempt to help calm your thoughts. You focus on the red as you quietly and carefully cut each apple into slices. You focus on the red of the handle on the knife in your hands, and how some spots are a little more faded than others. You focus on the red on the stomach of the man who looms next to you.

The man who looks as wretched as he has in the dreams where he's haunted you. The man who sees that your focus is now entirely on him. His grin is wide as he strides towards you. "Oh, _there_ you are--"

"No, you know what?" you cut him off, the knife cutting the apples now lingering in your grasp as you continue, "There's a lot of things I've wanted to say, but I always felt like I was going a step too far." The knife moves to and fro as you speak, but it isn't until you look him dead in the eye that you say, "But I am _so_ tired."

"Oh?" His tone is mocking as he looms over you. His features seem to distort in the dim lighting, and his eyes shine in a way that almost paralyzes you in fear. "What _else_ do you have to tell me?" he asks, a fierce grin as he speaks, "Is there something new you'll try to expose me with? Will you give me a reason to cut the telephone lines? Will you tell me _exactly_ where your sister's hidden herself--"

"We should've left your body to **rot**!" you cry, knife clenched in your hand as you pin one of his arms to the kitchen table. He seems taken back by the sudden strength you seem to possess out of the blue suddenly, but he doesn't have the chance to speak as you continue, "We should've pushed you overboard when we had the chance! _We_ should've been the ones to kill you instead of that _fucking **fungus**_!"

You focus on the red that comes forth when the knife plunges where the veins in his wrist rest, not on how he barely seems to give even a _hiss_ of a reaction. You focus on the red on the blade as you pull it out and plunge it into the center of his palm, not on the sudden sharp _cold_ that had greeted you when the knife left his body. Your focus falters somewhat as you pull the blade back out, and something about it blurs--numbs--when you plunge the blade pack into _your_ palm.

The reaction is immediate, despite how desperately you try to fight it. An anguished scream leaves you as you fall to your knees, the hand pinned to the table being the only thing keeping you from meeting the ground completely. He's gone from your sight, but you swear you still hear him. Tears stream from your eyes as you tear the blade from your hands, and you force yourself to keep from panicking when you catch sight of his hand trying to take the knife from your grasp.

You focus not on the fog of your vision, but the fact that the blade phases through him and cuts deep into your hand. You focus not on the growing gray, but the brief glimpse of horror in his eyes as you toss the blade towards his eyes. You focus not on the clatter of the blade, but what sounds like a loud _thud_ as your vision leaves you completely. You focus on the thought of maybe--finally--waking up, on this bad dream finally ending.

You focus on this bad dream ending.

You focus on this ending.

Ending.

End.

**End**.

.

You wake up slowly, dreadfully. It's dark where you lay, and you try to focus on the colors around you in an attempt to ground your senses. You focus on something violet--

_Violet_ \--

"Klaus--!" Her tone is frantic as you try to bring yourself to a stand. You falter somewhat in your attempts, but you find yourself leaning against the table thanks to her assistance. She sits in one of the kitchen chairs, her gaze never leaving you as she does so.

Finally, she speaks, "What happened? How long have you been down here?"

"Nothing happened," you try to brush off, your voice almost quicker than you can register it as you speak.

"No, _Klaus_ ," Violet responds, her tone stern yet worried as she says, "It clearly wasn't _nothing_! What happened?"

You _can't_ tell her, because honestly what the fuck will you even say? _"Oh no, everything's **fine** , I've only had countless nightmares about Count Olaf, and in one of them he made me think I **killed** you, but HEY! You know what? When I woke up, I saw him standing over my bed and telling me that I had no right to talk about it because what he's done in your nightmares are even **worse** \--"_ **No.** No, don't tell her, **don't** \--

"Klaus?" she asks, and by the tone of her voice you know you've taken too long to answer. You know you can't lie your way out of this. You can't. You can't. You can't. You

"Look, I already told you, it's _nothing_ \--" Your attempt to leave the kitchen is in vain as she promptly stands from her seat and starts to approach you.

"Klaus, _talk_ to me, _please_!" she urges, and her voice seems to break a little as she says, "I heard you scream! I thought I heard--" The hitch of her breath cuts her off before she can finish her sentence, but when she tries to say it again she's crying.

"I'm--" You don't know whether you're trying to reassure her that you're fine or apologize, but then you catch sight of your hand--

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay..." She pulls you into an embrace before you have the chance to consider refusing it, and something about it fills your chest with a mix of embarrassment and guilt. You feel like a small child, and you find yourself breaking into sobs at the thought, because despite everything, you really are just a child; all three of you are. "I'm here," she reassures you, " _I'm_ here..."


End file.
